Briefly put, it's been a rough week. My grandmother is moving into a nursing home on Friday. She'll have specialized care for Alzheimer patients, and it's across the street from where she is currently living, so she'll have a little familiarity. Grampa is taking this hard, but he knows that he just can't take care of her anymore.
As I was initially writing the first paragraph, I've found that Pros is in an even worse boat. His grandmother has just passed away in hospice care. The funeral is most likely this weekend in West Virginia. This puts me in a major bind, as I had planned to be in Philadelphia to support my family while my Gram goes into her new home. Pros says he would understand if I needed to go there, but I know he needs me to be with him. We're trying to find out if, somehow, we can still swing both family visits.
Needless to say, sleep is not coming to me very well...
Monday, November 07, 2005
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Memories and Possessions
Even though I moved here in May, I'm still dealing with a few boxes and things that haven't been touched, mostly because I knew they were mostly full of winter clothes. This morning, I tackled a box in our office, mostly because Pros begged me to clean up in there. Sure enough, there were plenty of skirts and tops for cooler weather, unfortunately mixed in with summer clothing I hadn't been able to find. I shook out the cat hair and dust as I arranged them into piles for hanging, storage and donation to the Salvation Army truck.
In this box were also two petit-pointe (like embroidery) angel wall hangings that had been given to me by my grandmother as well as two sweatshirts she had decorated with my sorority letters when I had first pledged. I had to laugh when I saw the sweatshirts. The letters were far larger than the standard ones worn, and I had initially been very peeved at their appearance. I wore the hot pink sweatshirt with the too-tall letters for our first Bid Day and stood out even more than I would have if I'd kept my bright purple hair, but I don't think I wore them again. Because they have the letters of my sorority, I couldn't throw them in the pile for donation.
Then I thought of how I'd also been upset when I had received the wall hangings. Two angels, in the act of carrying children to Heaven, wouldn't normally be something I would have wanted. They had been in my bedroom when I briefly lived with my grandparents, and I had been told they were made by my grandmother's grandmother. I had asked for them as a wedding gift. Instead, she gave them to me when I graduated from college. At that time, my unmarried state was a source of tension between us. My older cousin had married young and already had two sons, and I was not meant to settle down for another decade. To me, this early gifting was her way of telling me that I'd be a spinster. It took time before I placed these beautiful pieces of art on my wall.
My grandmother is still alive, but she isn't really with us anymore. Right before my 30th birthday, she asked me if my party was also an engagement party. Between our long-standing tension about my marital state and the unwillingness of my then boyfriend to commit, I had exploded and almost uninvited her to the gathering. That was when I found out that she wasn't being cruel, but that she was in the beginning stages of Alzheimer's Disease. Within another year, she admitted that she knew I was a familiar face, but that she could not fathom that I was the adult daughter of her younger son. This week, my grandfather was faced with the painful prospect of placing her in a facility that can care for her now that he cannot.
Alice was a beautiful, vivacious redheaded woman. She was an expert with flowers, especially orchids, and could name any bloom placed before her. Her sense of humor was one that didn't surface often, but would strike out at the most perfectly timed moment. Her light blue eyes would sparkle over family dinners and bridge matches with her friends. She taught me that to truly love someone, "you must hold them with an open hand", even if you're terrified you might lose them.
Gramma, my hands are open, and I know you are slipping away. You'll never know what a wonderful husband-to-be I have found. With luck, he'll understand why I must hang my angels before today is done.
In this box were also two petit-pointe (like embroidery) angel wall hangings that had been given to me by my grandmother as well as two sweatshirts she had decorated with my sorority letters when I had first pledged. I had to laugh when I saw the sweatshirts. The letters were far larger than the standard ones worn, and I had initially been very peeved at their appearance. I wore the hot pink sweatshirt with the too-tall letters for our first Bid Day and stood out even more than I would have if I'd kept my bright purple hair, but I don't think I wore them again. Because they have the letters of my sorority, I couldn't throw them in the pile for donation.
Then I thought of how I'd also been upset when I had received the wall hangings. Two angels, in the act of carrying children to Heaven, wouldn't normally be something I would have wanted. They had been in my bedroom when I briefly lived with my grandparents, and I had been told they were made by my grandmother's grandmother. I had asked for them as a wedding gift. Instead, she gave them to me when I graduated from college. At that time, my unmarried state was a source of tension between us. My older cousin had married young and already had two sons, and I was not meant to settle down for another decade. To me, this early gifting was her way of telling me that I'd be a spinster. It took time before I placed these beautiful pieces of art on my wall.
My grandmother is still alive, but she isn't really with us anymore. Right before my 30th birthday, she asked me if my party was also an engagement party. Between our long-standing tension about my marital state and the unwillingness of my then boyfriend to commit, I had exploded and almost uninvited her to the gathering. That was when I found out that she wasn't being cruel, but that she was in the beginning stages of Alzheimer's Disease. Within another year, she admitted that she knew I was a familiar face, but that she could not fathom that I was the adult daughter of her younger son. This week, my grandfather was faced with the painful prospect of placing her in a facility that can care for her now that he cannot.
Alice was a beautiful, vivacious redheaded woman. She was an expert with flowers, especially orchids, and could name any bloom placed before her. Her sense of humor was one that didn't surface often, but would strike out at the most perfectly timed moment. Her light blue eyes would sparkle over family dinners and bridge matches with her friends. She taught me that to truly love someone, "you must hold them with an open hand", even if you're terrified you might lose them.
Gramma, my hands are open, and I know you are slipping away. You'll never know what a wonderful husband-to-be I have found. With luck, he'll understand why I must hang my angels before today is done.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Anti-Bridezilla (I hope)
This weekend, I'm meeting my mother in the town where Pros and I are getting married in June. We're sitting down with the owner of the hall and getting tips on where to start looking for the little details (like a cake). This may be a painful experience, but at least Saturday night is at my favorite B&B I've experienced.
I also know my dear college roomate Cats is going to officiate, which makes everyone involved happy, which makes me incredibly relieved. Having a friend who can perform a wedding while still keeping your wild weekend secrets is a wonderful thing.
Once this weekend is over, it's back to my Work in Progress. I've made several changes to make Jess a middle school teacher, which makes sense now that I'm back in the classroom. It also makes the writing flow a little more smoothly now that I can use time with students as a segue into further plot. Let me know if you want a sneak peek!
I also know my dear college roomate Cats is going to officiate, which makes everyone involved happy, which makes me incredibly relieved. Having a friend who can perform a wedding while still keeping your wild weekend secrets is a wonderful thing.
Once this weekend is over, it's back to my Work in Progress. I've made several changes to make Jess a middle school teacher, which makes sense now that I'm back in the classroom. It also makes the writing flow a little more smoothly now that I can use time with students as a segue into further plot. Let me know if you want a sneak peek!
Friday, October 14, 2005
Tagged again!
My college roommate cats has tagged me once more!
Here's what i was told to do:
1. Go into your archives.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Find the 5th sentence (or close to it.)
4. Post that, along with these rules, in your blog.
5. Tag 5 people.
However, cats changed the rules to look at your 5th post (her 23rd was a sermon she preached, most likely very well). Therefore, I checked my 5th post as well. The fourth and fifth sentences are impossible to disconnect from one another:
"Someone needs to protect / guide the class nerds and outcasts. Who better than someone who was driven to a nervous breakdown in 10th grade and then bounced back?"
I had jokingly listed that among my reasons for wanting to be a teacher, but it truly continues to be one of the most serious goals I have in the front of the classroom. Last week, I saw three girls who were straight out of "Mean Girls", right down to the coordinated outfits, torturing each other and the less popular girls in the class. They were in shock when I leaned on them and demanded they sit in different parts of the room until the end of class, so they could do less damage. So what if they were the cheerleaders? Bullying is bullying, and that's what they were doing.
Let's face it, folks, if more teachers and parents put down their collective feet, more students could concentrate on being actual students. The only reason that verbal abuse is so rampant among teens is because those in authority let it continue. This same high school had two physical altercations earlier that week, and everyone from the teacher's aides to three police officers were in there within seconds.
Not that I'm the police, of course. I'm just a former nerd girl who is now in a position to see the signs of "female relational aggression", as sociologists call it (I might post my Linguistics paper on the subject later). Even better, I can act upon what I see and hear in a way that may help these kids avoid permanent damage.
Who better than someone who was driven to a nervous breakdown in 10th grade and then bounced back?
Here's what i was told to do:
1. Go into your archives.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Find the 5th sentence (or close to it.)
4. Post that, along with these rules, in your blog.
5. Tag 5 people.
However, cats changed the rules to look at your 5th post (her 23rd was a sermon she preached, most likely very well). Therefore, I checked my 5th post as well. The fourth and fifth sentences are impossible to disconnect from one another:
"Someone needs to protect / guide the class nerds and outcasts. Who better than someone who was driven to a nervous breakdown in 10th grade and then bounced back?"
I had jokingly listed that among my reasons for wanting to be a teacher, but it truly continues to be one of the most serious goals I have in the front of the classroom. Last week, I saw three girls who were straight out of "Mean Girls", right down to the coordinated outfits, torturing each other and the less popular girls in the class. They were in shock when I leaned on them and demanded they sit in different parts of the room until the end of class, so they could do less damage. So what if they were the cheerleaders? Bullying is bullying, and that's what they were doing.
Let's face it, folks, if more teachers and parents put down their collective feet, more students could concentrate on being actual students. The only reason that verbal abuse is so rampant among teens is because those in authority let it continue. This same high school had two physical altercations earlier that week, and everyone from the teacher's aides to three police officers were in there within seconds.
Not that I'm the police, of course. I'm just a former nerd girl who is now in a position to see the signs of "female relational aggression", as sociologists call it (I might post my Linguistics paper on the subject later). Even better, I can act upon what I see and hear in a way that may help these kids avoid permanent damage.
Who better than someone who was driven to a nervous breakdown in 10th grade and then bounced back?
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Work in Progress Part V
The shrill digital chirp of my phone returned me to the present with a rattle. It was too late for any further telemarketers, so I grabbed the receiver on the first ring and mumbled something in the way of a greeting.
“Hello Jessica, I’m assuming you got the invitation?”
I grinned. “Hi, Mom. Yes, it’s here.” Once I had gotten a normal hairstyle and attempted to wear an occasional color other than black, she and I became much more relaxed around one another. “I’m looking at it now. Very… purple, isn’t it?”
There was the flutter of paper on the other side of the phone. “At least it isn’t the awful shade of blue as the last time around. It looks like the reception is in a better location, too. They lucked out by getting Valentine’s Day on a weekend.” She paused for a moment. “Yes, Jessica, you are going. No, Jessica, you cannot bring the cat.”
The grin went to groan. Get out of my head, Mom. “Thanks. I was aware of that moral imperative, but you don’t have to remind me. Thinking about bringing a date makes my brain hurt. Face it, I should show up solo. And do NOT say anything about meeting someone there, I met Kevin’s friends last Labor Day and was completely underwhelmed.”
She chuckled. “I wouldn’t dream of saying that, Sweetcheeks.” I rolled my eyes at the childhood nickname. “You know your tastes in men, bad as they may be sometimes. You know I’m kidding about that last part, Jess.”
“Uh-huh.” I did know, but I also knew she tended to be right.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Work in Progress Part IV
It had been fairly evident for some time that my eldest cousin was getting remarried. Her left shoulder had been rendered slightly lower than the other due to her hand being weighed down by the diamond boulder attached to it with very strong platinum. Fortunately, she had her hand in the grasp of so many of our admiring relatives that permanent damage may have been averted. This was the husband of which they approved.
Not that they didn’t shell out plenty for the first wedding, but it is now set aside as “that incident years ago” or something like that. It wasn’t exactly a wedding for the ages, but the hairdos were definitely from the 80s era. The march down the aisle had been rather hilarious in itself. It was a parade of mullets, hairspray and bright screaming royal blue cummerbunds goose-stepping to the altar, with George leading up the rear. Even my father commented that it resembled a funeral procession with his bachelorhood as the corpse. Screaming royal blue gowns followed, topped by faces that were nothing particularly special, so their uniforms did their job in shielding the identities of the bridesmaids.
Rachel had gained about 25 pounds between her initial dress fitting and the ceremony. Her intended made sure to let several people know it, although nobody had to tell the pastor as he kept looking down into the dangerously overfilled bodice of Rachel’s gown. Her cleavage later served as a final resting place for the piece of strawberry cake smashed into her face, creating a contrast to the lines of mascara quickly pooling from down her cheeks and neck.
I had been glad that I had gone with my initial instinct and worn black despite my mother’s protests that it was inappropriate for an afternoon wedding. It had gone with my mood and my purple hair, although I had been talked into wearing the latter down instead of the Mohawk I had so desperately wanted to sport. My parents had distanced themselves slightly, reminding everyone I was in college and going through a period of self-exploration. Everything would be fine as long as I kept bringing home nice and temporary boys but not girls, temporary or otherwise.
Ah, but THIS fiancé was different. Kevin was definitely the one, in the opinion of the family. He was the right religion so we wouldn’t be stuck squirming through an interfaith church service. Right background so he could afford to keep Rachel in the way she deserved to be kept. Much less likely to make passes at other members of his future wife’s family was the unspoken thought. Only Rachel’s sister Melissa was less surprised than I was when George was caught with his pants around his ankles and his dental assistant on his desk. That was because Melissa was his office manager, and she had avoided his advances by threatening him with a drawer filled with dangerous looking hooks and picks.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
My personal hurricane relief
I've been worried about an old friend of mine. He and his wife are both rabbis, and they moved to New Orleans to head the Conservative synogogue there. After Katrina hit, I didn't hear from him, which is unusual. When they narrowly missed being at Hebrew Union College when it was targeted for violence, he made sure to send out a mass email. Not this time.
However, I just heard on NPR that he is well and in Houston with the majority of his congregation. I also found this open letter online:
However, I just heard on NPR that he is well and in Houston with the majority of his congregation. I also found this open letter online:
A huge thank you to all of you who have called, and emailed in support and with offers of help for my family and my community. It's great to know how much everyone cares about hesed. My synagogue has opened up a "Shir Chadash Katrina Fund" For those interested in contributing, I will pass on the address to mail checks to when I have it. I apologize if I cannot thank all of you for your support individually, but know that my kehillah and I truly appreciate it.
Luckily, it seems that the roof of Shir Chadash is intact and there were only a few inches of water taken in. No doubt there will be many expenses, but thank God our building is quite reparable. Many of my congregants have lost their homes. Our home sustained maybe a foot of water and undoubtedly a lot is damaged, but we are still luckier than many.
Thanks and Shabbat Shalom
Shir Chadash Katrina Fund
c/o Bank
2800 Post Oak Blvd.
Monday, October 03, 2005
Work in Progress Part III
Miss Jessica Bronstein and Guest.
“Which do you think one is worse,” I asked Dinah, “the ‘Miss’ part or that I don’t have a designated guest with a name?” Dinah half opened her eyes and then went back to sleep. I turned over the envelope to look at the embossed return address. “Oh, no. Please let this turn into a bar mitzvah invitation...”
Somewhere in the childish make-believe part of my mind, I clung to the hope that if I stared at the letter long enough it would magically transform into that bar mitzvah invitation after all. Those could be entertaining events if you kept score for things like how often the kid’s voice cracks, the price spent on that perfect Mother of the Bar Mitzvah boy dress, and how many underage guests got caught sneaking alcohol from the open bar. However, even the most overbearing mother would have been in big trouble with her son if she sent invitations in purple envelopes with lace trim.
I opened the envelope. The contents remained what I knew they would be all along.
How beautiful is the day that is touched by love.
Mr. and Mrs. William Schwartz request the honor of your presence
At the marriage of their daughter Rachel Deborah to Kevin …
“Rats!” I groaned loudly enough that Dinah’s ears perked up and she raced over to the chair where I was slumped. She may have been trying to distract me, offer consolation, or just get attention while I was seated was up in the air, but she managed all three as her face shoved under the card and she stared up at me with big green eyes. What a shame about Rachel’s allergy to Dinah, or I could bring her as my guest and be left alone as The Crazy Cat Lady.
“Which do you think one is worse,” I asked Dinah, “the ‘Miss’ part or that I don’t have a designated guest with a name?” Dinah half opened her eyes and then went back to sleep. I turned over the envelope to look at the embossed return address. “Oh, no. Please let this turn into a bar mitzvah invitation...”
Somewhere in the childish make-believe part of my mind, I clung to the hope that if I stared at the letter long enough it would magically transform into that bar mitzvah invitation after all. Those could be entertaining events if you kept score for things like how often the kid’s voice cracks, the price spent on that perfect Mother of the Bar Mitzvah boy dress, and how many underage guests got caught sneaking alcohol from the open bar. However, even the most overbearing mother would have been in big trouble with her son if she sent invitations in purple envelopes with lace trim.
I opened the envelope. The contents remained what I knew they would be all along.
How beautiful is the day that is touched by love.
Mr. and Mrs. William Schwartz request the honor of your presence
At the marriage of their daughter Rachel Deborah to Kevin …
“Rats!” I groaned loudly enough that Dinah’s ears perked up and she raced over to the chair where I was slumped. She may have been trying to distract me, offer consolation, or just get attention while I was seated was up in the air, but she managed all three as her face shoved under the card and she stared up at me with big green eyes. What a shame about Rachel’s allergy to Dinah, or I could bring her as my guest and be left alone as The Crazy Cat Lady.
Saturday, October 01, 2005
School daze
Teaching season has finally begun for me! I'm currently substituting in three school districts, which is a fantastic way to get to see the range of schools around here. Each district has their own distinct characteristics.
One of them is extremely focused on optimum academic achievement. They rotate class periods in the middle school so that students don't get one subject at their worst time of the day all the time. It's an interesting concept.
Another district is so strapped for space that students attend in three shifts. The taxpayers refuse to vote for a bond issue that would pay for new buildings, so these poor kids may get stuck in school until 6:30 at night. The worst part is that the late session of students is treated like they are less worthy than the others, so they act accordingly. It's a shame.
Still getting a feel for the third district, but I'll be there more this upcoming week. So far they're the most like where I was a student teacher, and I was very comfortable. I'll be working with 9th grade English students on Monday, which will be a treat!
It's wonderful to be back in a classroom, but disorienting to be in so many!
One of them is extremely focused on optimum academic achievement. They rotate class periods in the middle school so that students don't get one subject at their worst time of the day all the time. It's an interesting concept.
Another district is so strapped for space that students attend in three shifts. The taxpayers refuse to vote for a bond issue that would pay for new buildings, so these poor kids may get stuck in school until 6:30 at night. The worst part is that the late session of students is treated like they are less worthy than the others, so they act accordingly. It's a shame.
Still getting a feel for the third district, but I'll be there more this upcoming week. So far they're the most like where I was a student teacher, and I was very comfortable. I'll be working with 9th grade English students on Monday, which will be a treat!
It's wonderful to be back in a classroom, but disorienting to be in so many!
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Work in Progress Part II
I turned the radio to the local news and remembered to breathe. The rest of the trip home was uneventful reports of murder, war, and the occasional warning of ice on the roads that was causing tractor-trailers to flip over. At least those problems were on the radio and not in my own head. I refocused my Reality Binoculars. I was comfortable avoiding the chance to strut down an aisle like a white satin Mummer on New Years Day. Actually, considering how gaudy some of those wedding gowns can get, the parallel between the two wasn’t a bad one.
*****
My driveway, for once, was clear of any cars parked illegally for the bar across the street. I let myself relax as I pulled into my beloved designated spot behind my building. The wooden steps to the second floor had iced over again but it was too late at night to hack a safe path with the heel of my boot, not without chancing waking my neighbor or her German Shepherd. I held my breath and both handrails as I slowly made my way up to my back door and fumbled with the key in my gloved hand.
Finally inside, I received the usual rebuke and glare from my roommate for being out too late. Fortunately for me Dinah is a roommate with four feet, whiskers and an attitude easily appeased with catnip or skim milk. I didn’t take the abuse personally. She performed a perfect figure eight around my feet without seriously tripping me, a feat that took many years and many dropped microwave dinners to manage.
Two messages on my answering machine blinked at me. One was someone trying to sell me a time-share in Disneyworld. It was a tempting offer considering the cold snap over the Northeast, but I erased the message for my own good. The next voice was my high school pal out in Michigan, bored out of his skull and calling everyone programmed into his cell phone. I knew this because my name came after Jen and before Lenny in Rick’s phone list, and if he had been drinking he tended to lose track and call me by one or the other name.
“BEEP…Jess? Hello, Jess? Damn, I was hoping you were just screening your calls again. Are you there and screening your calls? Jess? Damn.” Click, BEEP.
Lenny? Hello, Lenny? Damn again! I could almost hear Rick’s next call as I wandered down the front steps to check for my mail. Dinah knew better than to do more than to stick part of her head out the front door to make sure I was coming back. One whisker-to-whisker meeting with Countess in the downstairs apartment was enough to keep her out of the dark stairwell.
I sorted through the envelopes, tossing the coupons and fliers onto the coffee table. On top was a telephone bill, a rather large one going by weight. Set that one aside with a wince. Electric bill, not so bad thanks to my love of thick wooly socks and an afghan knitted by my cousin Melissa during a very confining pregnancy. The four credit card applications were placed in another pile for a fateful meeting with my document shredder. A frilly and bright lavender designer envelope with my name written in perfect calligraphy…
*****
My driveway, for once, was clear of any cars parked illegally for the bar across the street. I let myself relax as I pulled into my beloved designated spot behind my building. The wooden steps to the second floor had iced over again but it was too late at night to hack a safe path with the heel of my boot, not without chancing waking my neighbor or her German Shepherd. I held my breath and both handrails as I slowly made my way up to my back door and fumbled with the key in my gloved hand.
Finally inside, I received the usual rebuke and glare from my roommate for being out too late. Fortunately for me Dinah is a roommate with four feet, whiskers and an attitude easily appeased with catnip or skim milk. I didn’t take the abuse personally. She performed a perfect figure eight around my feet without seriously tripping me, a feat that took many years and many dropped microwave dinners to manage.
Two messages on my answering machine blinked at me. One was someone trying to sell me a time-share in Disneyworld. It was a tempting offer considering the cold snap over the Northeast, but I erased the message for my own good. The next voice was my high school pal out in Michigan, bored out of his skull and calling everyone programmed into his cell phone. I knew this because my name came after Jen and before Lenny in Rick’s phone list, and if he had been drinking he tended to lose track and call me by one or the other name.
“BEEP…Jess? Hello, Jess? Damn, I was hoping you were just screening your calls again. Are you there and screening your calls? Jess? Damn.” Click, BEEP.
Lenny? Hello, Lenny? Damn again! I could almost hear Rick’s next call as I wandered down the front steps to check for my mail. Dinah knew better than to do more than to stick part of her head out the front door to make sure I was coming back. One whisker-to-whisker meeting with Countess in the downstairs apartment was enough to keep her out of the dark stairwell.
I sorted through the envelopes, tossing the coupons and fliers onto the coffee table. On top was a telephone bill, a rather large one going by weight. Set that one aside with a wince. Electric bill, not so bad thanks to my love of thick wooly socks and an afghan knitted by my cousin Melissa during a very confining pregnancy. The four credit card applications were placed in another pile for a fateful meeting with my document shredder. A frilly and bright lavender designer envelope with my name written in perfect calligraphy…
Friday, September 23, 2005
Well, we ALL knew this...
| You Are a Chick Rocker! |
 You're living proof that chicks can rock You're inspired by Joan Jett and the Donnas And when you rock, you rock hard (Plus, you get all the cute guy groupies you want!) |
Work in Progress Part I
It was icy driving conditions on the drive home. I made a mental note to myself to never again listen to New Age music in the car. It made me introspective, then usually depressed. Much safer to listen to some rock station or the news, anything with words that were not my own. I replayed the conversation one more time so I could fully enjoy the feeling in the pit of my stomach. A glass of mediocre Merlot, definitely not worth the $7.50 with tip, had loosened my tongue a bit. Another mental note, either stay away from the bar or learn to be a quiet drinker when you’re with coworkers.
I had been watching my former boyfriend walk away after an awkward conversation when I turned to Linda. “You know we broke up in December.”
“No, you’re KIDDING!” She had put on a surprised and comforting face almost in time to hide the excitement from getting fresh gossip. “You two were together for so long!”
“It was two years plus a few months. It was… amicable. Things were just never going to happen between us.” I had taken another sip and muttered into my wine glass, “Besides, I probably would have been a terrible wife for him.”
I wished I could have seen Linda’s particular expression, but the edge of the glass had obscured the view. “Well, I think he would have been a perfect husband for you! What a shame.”
Thanks. The words kept zinging between my ears as I continued my drive. At the time of that conversation, I had actually nodded and agreed wholeheartedly at the time I had heard Linda’s words. Even if they weren’t true, they were close enough to nip at me. There had more than a few times I had heard something along those lines, even from people I liked much more than Linda.
Maybe Linda’s more right than she realized. Maybe I would be a horrid wife to anyone. Maybe there’s an obvious reason I’m still unmarried at this point of my life. Maybe...
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
New friends make things better
Yesterday evening was one of those times that almost made me regret moving. Just handling something as simple as covering the opening where my window was smashed was made difficult because I had no idea where the duct tape was in this house (after several attempts, I was able to call Pros for the location). Then, when I was able to relax for a second, I found our cable had been shut off because our bill has consistently been forwarded to Pros' old apartment.
Thankfully, I had previously made arrangements to meet a new aquaintence at a neighborhood bar within walking distance. "Wendy" is a bartender at another local watering hole, but this is where she goes to drink, so I decided to give it a shot. What a great place! Two pinball games, cheap as all hell drinks, and incredibly friendly regulars. Wendy and I sat out back and yapped until I was much calmer about living in Columbus, then kept drinking until she could barely keep her eyes open. A good time was had by all, and now I have a haven where I can have a vodka tonic while beating the crap out of a pinball.
Oh, the cable is back on and my car window is being repaired this afternoon. Things are looking a bit better.
Thankfully, I had previously made arrangements to meet a new aquaintence at a neighborhood bar within walking distance. "Wendy" is a bartender at another local watering hole, but this is where she goes to drink, so I decided to give it a shot. What a great place! Two pinball games, cheap as all hell drinks, and incredibly friendly regulars. Wendy and I sat out back and yapped until I was much calmer about living in Columbus, then kept drinking until she could barely keep her eyes open. A good time was had by all, and now I have a haven where I can have a vodka tonic while beating the crap out of a pinball.
Oh, the cable is back on and my car window is being repaired this afternoon. Things are looking a bit better.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Violated
Some schmuck broke into my car this afternoon. Nothing was taken as far as I can tell, not even my stereo, but the right passenger window was smashed in. Okay, my supply of quarters was taken, but not the nickles. What the heck? Most likely the thief or thieves either were scared off by heavy traffic or just couldn't find anything because my car was such a mess.This happened while Pros is still on his geology field trip and I'm trying to get ready to start substitute teaching.
Still can't believe nothing was stolen but I'm going to be out a couple hundred dollars replacing the window. It's going to force me to start taking the bus to and from work (something Pros wanted me to do anyway), but now I'll feel unsafe doing that as well.
As someone said to me a couple of months ago, welcome to the big city! Ugh...
Still can't believe nothing was stolen but I'm going to be out a couple hundred dollars replacing the window. It's going to force me to start taking the bus to and from work (something Pros wanted me to do anyway), but now I'll feel unsafe doing that as well.
As someone said to me a couple of months ago, welcome to the big city! Ugh...
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Plea to alma mater
This is from a letter sent to the PR Veep of my undergrad college regarding his response to the ongoing fight to save the radio station from a takeover by the local PBS affiliate:
Mike Bruckner, a Muhlenberg spokesman, said that while the college is always interested in exploring any new opportunities it can offer its students, he is not sure how a merger between WLVT and WMUH-FM 91.7 would occur.
''As far as I know, ours isn't for sale,'' Bruckner said. ''We're always interested in partnerships, but we're all for focusing the station on students.''
Mr. Bruckner,
I wanted to write privately to thank you for taking this public stance, even if your word is not the bound oath of the college. As one of the "rabblerousers", I can be honest that we are anxious to hear any news other than the usual neutral stance. The conversation on My Muhlenberg is one of alumni who are very passionate about making sure this part of our shared history has another generation.
Since I've graduated, things have definitely changed. Several of my favorite professors have left, while others were granted the tenure they worked so hard to earn. My home from my junior year was leveled to make way for the C.A. expansion and my sorority (I am a founding sister of Phi Mu) struggles to stay alive. WMUH and Phi Mu are the two places left where I can still find my fingerprints, and it is vital to me personally that both are there for my future students to enjoy.
Another thing that has happened was the sudden death of my friend and mentor Mark Klee, known on the air as Mr. Mark. As you joined the campus before his 2001 passing, you may have had the pleasure of listening to his off the wall commentary on the Lehigh Valley and beyond. If not, Joe Swanson would probably be happy to loan you a copy of the finest DJ Allentown ever had. There is a room in the studios that has quietly been dedicated to his memory, and it is a place that I love to visit when I visit campus. To lose the free-form concept of the station in favor of full NPR programming would be to lose what made Mark's gift possible, not to mention to lose the chance that another equally talented but totally different DJ will appear on Muhlenberg's airwaves.
I am writing to you from my heart and asking that you act as an advocate for the voices you have been hearing, if at all possible. We do not write and call because we enjoy pestering our alma mater. We are weighing in at the court of public opinion because we are desperate to keep WMUH as it is. Again, I thank you for taking your public stance. Please let me know if there is any information or background I can give you as you and President Helm (whom I had the pleasure of meeting at my class reunion last year) continue the process of researching your options.
Mike Bruckner, a Muhlenberg spokesman, said that while the college is always interested in exploring any new opportunities it can offer its students, he is not sure how a merger between WLVT and WMUH-FM 91.7 would occur.
''As far as I know, ours isn't for sale,'' Bruckner said. ''We're always interested in partnerships, but we're all for focusing the station on students.''
Mr. Bruckner,
I wanted to write privately to thank you for taking this public stance, even if your word is not the bound oath of the college. As one of the "rabblerousers", I can be honest that we are anxious to hear any news other than the usual neutral stance. The conversation on My Muhlenberg is one of alumni who are very passionate about making sure this part of our shared history has another generation.
Since I've graduated, things have definitely changed. Several of my favorite professors have left, while others were granted the tenure they worked so hard to earn. My home from my junior year was leveled to make way for the C.A. expansion and my sorority (I am a founding sister of Phi Mu) struggles to stay alive. WMUH and Phi Mu are the two places left where I can still find my fingerprints, and it is vital to me personally that both are there for my future students to enjoy.
Another thing that has happened was the sudden death of my friend and mentor Mark Klee, known on the air as Mr. Mark. As you joined the campus before his 2001 passing, you may have had the pleasure of listening to his off the wall commentary on the Lehigh Valley and beyond. If not, Joe Swanson would probably be happy to loan you a copy of the finest DJ Allentown ever had. There is a room in the studios that has quietly been dedicated to his memory, and it is a place that I love to visit when I visit campus. To lose the free-form concept of the station in favor of full NPR programming would be to lose what made Mark's gift possible, not to mention to lose the chance that another equally talented but totally different DJ will appear on Muhlenberg's airwaves.
I am writing to you from my heart and asking that you act as an advocate for the voices you have been hearing, if at all possible. We do not write and call because we enjoy pestering our alma mater. We are weighing in at the court of public opinion because we are desperate to keep WMUH as it is. Again, I thank you for taking your public stance. Please let me know if there is any information or background I can give you as you and President Helm (whom I had the pleasure of meeting at my class reunion last year) continue the process of researching your options.
Friday, September 09, 2005
Aging
Last night I came home from dinner with some of Pros' gal pals from the University. They were a ball! One of them was amazing with wine tasting even though she claimed she didn't like a lot of what she tasted. Her palate was one I envied. We talked about food and dating and all the things most discuss on a girls' night out. Only once did I mention the fact that I had at about a decade of years on them. There is a definite difference between 20somethings and 30somethings, but it isn't something that usually would come up over a silly night of pasta and porto.
When I was getting ready for bed that night, I thought of something funny said that evening and grinned in the mirror. The image staring back at me had crow's feet I had never seen on my own face, and the smile quickly vanished. The lines didn't seem to stop at my eyes but ran down the length of my face, rows of tiny wrinkles that hadn't been there only weeks before. For someone who loves passing for seven years younger than my age, this alarmed me. Yes, it's a horrid kind of vanity, but it's also a tremble of mortality that left me marked.
One thing is for sure. I will continue to smile. I'm a happy person, damnit!
When I was getting ready for bed that night, I thought of something funny said that evening and grinned in the mirror. The image staring back at me had crow's feet I had never seen on my own face, and the smile quickly vanished. The lines didn't seem to stop at my eyes but ran down the length of my face, rows of tiny wrinkles that hadn't been there only weeks before. For someone who loves passing for seven years younger than my age, this alarmed me. Yes, it's a horrid kind of vanity, but it's also a tremble of mortality that left me marked.
One thing is for sure. I will continue to smile. I'm a happy person, damnit!
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Solitude Sitting Around
Pros is out of town for over a week, and I've suddenly realized how isolated I am in this new place. Tried calling the two people I know who don't have kids or whatnot. One is working and the other never answers the phone anyway. It's unnerving to feel this alone in such a big place. It was nice for about a day, but now I'm starting to wonder when and if I'm going to find a group of friends who would just say, "Yeah, we're just making pasta, but feel free to come over."
This was one of the risks I took when I moved out here. What I didn't count on was that Pros isn't the most social man I've been with, so I've turned down a lot of invites out in the past because he wanted to watch a DVD instead. So now I'm able to get out on my own but have nowhere to go. Well, I could always go to the coffee shop and write / people watch, but that isn't quite the same.
Maybe I'll just go make some pasta for myself and catch a showing of "Broken Flowers" over at the local artsy theater. Maybe I'll stay in and catch the results from "Rockstar, INXS". Maybe I'll go exercise at the place I quit after two days of work. Maybe I'll play yet another round of "Civilization III".
Who knows? I'm DEFINITELY going out tomorrow night!
This was one of the risks I took when I moved out here. What I didn't count on was that Pros isn't the most social man I've been with, so I've turned down a lot of invites out in the past because he wanted to watch a DVD instead. So now I'm able to get out on my own but have nowhere to go. Well, I could always go to the coffee shop and write / people watch, but that isn't quite the same.
Maybe I'll just go make some pasta for myself and catch a showing of "Broken Flowers" over at the local artsy theater. Maybe I'll stay in and catch the results from "Rockstar, INXS". Maybe I'll go exercise at the place I quit after two days of work. Maybe I'll play yet another round of "Civilization III".
Who knows? I'm DEFINITELY going out tomorrow night!
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Bypass FEMA!
Here's an address in Baton Rouge for direct donations of goods:
The Downtown Churches Distribution Center for Refugee Needs
St. James Episcopal Manship Ministries Center
P.O. Box 3011, Baton Rouge, LA 70821
They need clothing (baby clothes, children's clothes, adult clothing: comfortable ones like shorts and T-shirts), bed linens, blankets, towels, toiletries, etc. Mark what you're sending on the box so it can be sorted more easily. Personally, I'm planning on getting a bunch of new underwear and sending that. I have a feeling the Salvation Army doesn't have a lot of undergarments.
The Downtown Churches Distribution Center for Refugee Needs
St. James Episcopal Manship Ministries Center
P.O. Box 3011, Baton Rouge, LA 70821
They need clothing (baby clothes, children's clothes, adult clothing: comfortable ones like shorts and T-shirts), bed linens, blankets, towels, toiletries, etc. Mark what you're sending on the box so it can be sorted more easily. Personally, I'm planning on getting a bunch of new underwear and sending that. I have a feeling the Salvation Army doesn't have a lot of undergarments.
Saturday, September 03, 2005
Dear Mur,
You popped up in one of my dreams again, so I'm assuming there was something you wanted to tell me. It's so rare I remember my dreams, but the ones with you are fairly vivid, with you wanting to take me away for a talk. The problem is that I can never fully recollect the conversations once I'm awake and remember again that you died in 1997.
Did you want to make sure I haven't forgotten you? That's impossible, my dear one. Too much of the my life was wrapped up in yours, and to be honest, sometimes it's been difficult to move forward. However, I think you're happy that I have with someone as wonderful as Pros. You really would have loved him. He's as astute with wines as your father was without having that addiction. He loves me without having to battle a love of substances as you did. He's the only other person besides you that I'd consider as a husband, and since you're gone, it's a good thing he wants me as his wife!
Missing you is an odd thing after all these years. Just reread "The Lovely Bones" and I wonder how much you really do keep an eye on us from your life. Hopefully not too often now that there's so much else in the universe to explore. It's also a sad world to view from the outside, I'm sure. Your family is trying to move forward, but they have different ways of doing so. Hopefully they will manage to coordinate someday. I haven't seen or heard from your brother in years, and I miss that contact because he was becoming an amazing adult. He knew you even better than I did, and your death almost killed him, but he seems determined to live. He'll be okay in the long run once his body heals from his addictions.
You are not forgotten, and are lovingly captured in memories and dreams.
--Love, Moi
(little in joke there, if you remember)
Did you want to make sure I haven't forgotten you? That's impossible, my dear one. Too much of the my life was wrapped up in yours, and to be honest, sometimes it's been difficult to move forward. However, I think you're happy that I have with someone as wonderful as Pros. You really would have loved him. He's as astute with wines as your father was without having that addiction. He loves me without having to battle a love of substances as you did. He's the only other person besides you that I'd consider as a husband, and since you're gone, it's a good thing he wants me as his wife!
Missing you is an odd thing after all these years. Just reread "The Lovely Bones" and I wonder how much you really do keep an eye on us from your life. Hopefully not too often now that there's so much else in the universe to explore. It's also a sad world to view from the outside, I'm sure. Your family is trying to move forward, but they have different ways of doing so. Hopefully they will manage to coordinate someday. I haven't seen or heard from your brother in years, and I miss that contact because he was becoming an amazing adult. He knew you even better than I did, and your death almost killed him, but he seems determined to live. He'll be okay in the long run once his body heals from his addictions.
You are not forgotten, and are lovingly captured in memories and dreams.
--Love, Moi
(little in joke there, if you remember)
Friday, September 02, 2005
If you read this and can help...
Even if you can only organize or make phone calls, check out http://informationisgolden.blogspot.com/ for how you can pinpoint need for cities within 100 miles of New Orleans. People are still there and are in dire straits. My friend ICEKNIFE is trying to unite bloggers in aiding Louisiana residents. Do what you can!
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